In this fairy tale with a sexy twist, she’s a penniless San Francisco seamstress. He’s the king of Italian couture.

Who’s got designs on whom?

Ache For You, an all-new steamy standalone in the Slow Burn Series from J.T. Geissinger is available NOW!

Boutique owner Kimber DiSanto has seen better days. She’s been dumped at the altar by Prince Charmless, her business went up in flames (literally), and now she’s stuck in Florence, Italy, with an ice-queen stepmother, to try to save her late father’s failing dress shop. Only one thing could make it worse: another man in her life. The arrogant Italian fashion tycoon offering to buy her father’s shop is as rich as he is sexy, and their attraction is off the charts. But Kimber’s not about to get burned again.

Women don’t say no to Matteo Moretti—and certainly not with Kimber’s stinging precision. With all the heat and fury sparking between them, Matteo can’t resist baiting the gorgeous American. His plan? Win her over one scorching kiss at a time.

Kimber tells herself it’s all just a game. That her broken heart isn’t in danger, and that Matteo’s touch does not make her Lady Land dance with joy. But sometimes it takes the fieriest of enemies to turn a fantasy into a real-life romance.

With my chin held high, I go over to him, push him out of the doorway, and slam the door in his face.

The door instantly swings back open.

Shit. No lock.

“You know, hate and love aren’t so different, bella.”

He’s being philosophical now, pursing his pretty mouth and gazing at the ceiling, as if viewing the stars.

I could kill him.

“Why do you enjoy torturing me? Are you some kind of sadist?”

He ignores me, naturally, and continues his little Socratic speech. “They’re two sides of the same coin, really. Passion, obsession, sweaty palms, and a racing heart. Lost sleep.” He slides his gaze over to the cheese and salami on the dresser. “A poor appetite.”

“You want a poor appetite? I’ll give you a poor appetite. I’ll take that salami and wedge it so far down your throat you won’t be able to eat ever again.”

Amused by my fury, he smiles. “Passion,” he reminds me, smug as shit.

I look around for something to throw at him.

“Let’s call a truce.” He strolls forward, hands in his pockets.

As if I’ll feel safer that way.

“No truce. No way. And you’re the one who started this war, remember?”

He makes a face, like he’s doubtful.

“Yes, you. Wait, why am I even talking to you? You fake kissed me!”

“Did I?”

“Yes! You admitted you did!”

“Hmm. I don’t recall that.”

“So we’ll add dementia to your long list of problems.”

By now he’s trapped me at the edge of the bed, advancing so stealthily I hardly noticed it, which was probably his dastardly plan all along.

I stand my ground and flatten my hand in the center of his chest, bracing my arm so he can’t move forward. “I’m not a joke,” I say, my voice raw. “I’m not a plaything.”

“I never said you were.”

Under my palm, his heart is a jackhammer. We do the hate breathing at each other again, which apparently is becoming our thing. Then we do the hate eye fucking again, which is definitely becoming our thing.

He says softly, “You’re giving me grief about how I look at you? You should see your eyes right now.” His voice drops an octave. “So dirty, bella. So very, very dirty.”

“I’m not selling the company, no matter how much you try to sex it out of me.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Sex it out of you?” As I watch with ragged breath, he sinks his teeth into his full lower lip. “Now that sounds interesting. Let’s discuss.”

“You’re a pig.”

“And yet you want me.”

“You’re unbelievable!”

“Yes, women have told me that before. Usually right after they come.”

I can’t even with this guy!

Then it’s like he remembers something. He looks around, frowning. “What are you doing in here?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? Trying to get rid of you!”

He looks at the wad of sheets in the corner. He looks at the freshly made bed. Then he looks back at me. The smile that breaks over his face is breathtaking.

“My darling ex-stepsister. Are you moving in?”

Very deliberately, I slide my hand up his chest until I reach his neck. Then I grasp his throat—lightly, but enough to let him know I mean it.

His skin is hot to the touch, and his throat is strong. Thick. It makes me think of other hot, thick body parts.

I officially hate myself.

He lifts his brows, obviously amused. “You have the most interesting internal conversations. Are you going to choke me?”

I growl. It sounds silly, like a kitten trying to be scary.

Matteo leans forward. My arm is still locked at the elbow, so it puts more pressure around his throat. Holding my gaze, he says softly, “Go ahead. I know you want to.”

Boy, do I. I curl my other hand around his neck so now I’ve got him good and surrounded. I feel his pulse, beating hard against my palms. It’s weirdly arousing.

Intently watching my face, he whispers, “Those eyes.”

About J.T. Geissinger:

J.T. Geissinger is a bestselling author of emotionally charged romance and women’s fiction. Ranging from funny, feisty rom coms to intense, edgy suspense, her books have sold more than one million copies and been translated into several languages.

She is the recipient of the Prism Award for Best First Book, the Golden Quill Award for Best Paranormal/Urban Fantasy, and is a two-time finalist for the RITA® Award from the Romance Writers of America®. She has also been a finalist in the Booksellers’ Best, National Readers’ Choice, and Daphne du Maurier Awards.

Her first novel was published in 2012. Since then she’s written eighteen more novels. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, drinking wine, surfing the internet, and daydreaming about all the things she’s going to be when she grows up. She lives near the beach in Los Angeles with her husband and deaf/demented rescue kitty, Ginger.